


Shelter from the Storm

by SFDoll



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: A Cannibal?, Action & Romance, Blood and Violence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, On the Run, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Technically... I Suppose, This Is Your Blaine on Brains, posing as a married couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SFDoll/pseuds/SFDoll
Summary: On the run for their lives Blaine and Peyton find themselves trapped in a snowy motel with a single bed.  How will they work through their differences in such close quarters?  Do they even have a choice if they want to survive?





	Shelter from the Storm

Snow swirled against the windshield as a gust of riotous white flakes blew across the road in a squall that rocked the black sedan and made Peyton slam her eyes shut for a moment to ward off the mental image of the wind pushing their car straight off the road and over the drop off that lined the mountain highway. Blaine raised the volume on the radio, singing along with an old Elvis Costello song as though determined to drown out the storm with his voice. His knuckles tightened around the wheel in a grip that threatened to crack the plastic.

Peyton resisted the urge to look back at the empty road behind them, knowing it was clear but still imagining the tiny snow tornados spinning away across the snow-covered asphalt as an ominous black SUV sped up behind them at dangerous speeds. _Boss doesn't know where we are_ , she reminded herself. _And he'd still have to find a hitman to send beyond the wall after us._

The tires slipped as they tried to crest the next hill. "Balls!" Blaine snarled in frustration, and he clenched his jaw as he steered them out of the skid. The storm had worsened to the point where they couldn't see more than a few feet ahead through the blow and the road had become outright frightening. Blaine turned off the radio when the channel switched into a news broadcast about how this was the most dangerous storm in years--news that did nothing to alleviate either of their fears--and the cabin of the vehicle was filled with nothing but the howling of the blizzard and their strained breathing. It wasn't until another few miles that they spied the lighted sign of a motel shining through the thick snow, and they both let out a sigh of relief.

Blaine pulled into the empty parking lot and parked in a space near the office. Neither he nor Peyton were dressed for this weather. He eyed Peyton's skirt and heels with a wince. "You can wait here with the heat on while I get us a room," he offered as Peyton wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the enormous clumps of white that were falling heavily. She waved his concern away with a shake of her head.

She heard his resigned sigh as she flung open the door and stepped out into the snow. Her feet were already wet and cold by the time she jogged through the office door, holding it for Blaine who was right on her heels. "Thank you, Sweetheart!" Blaine said in a breathless rasp, his grin already fixed on the slender older man behind the counter. Peyton shivered beside him, rubbing her hands up and down over the sleeves of her suit jacket, and he wrapped an arm around her--not that his zombie body temperature could do much to warm her.

The man eyed them with deep suspicion. A woman in a light business skirt and blazer trying to kick the snow out of her stiletto heels, and a man clad all in black from his jeans to the v-neck under his suit jacket. "You folks lost?" the man asked, his voice devoid of sympathy for the shivering travelers on his doorstep. He smoothed the lanky, grey hairs combed over his shiny baldspot. From the look he was giving them, he had clearly come to some conclusion about what this mismatched pair wanted with one of his motel rooms that apparently ended with them stealing all of his towels and burning holes in his carpets.

"We passed lost about an hour ago," Peyton replied. It was surprisingly easy for her to sound angry and frustrated at the moment. "Apparently, my husband decided it would be a great idea to pick me up from the office and whisk me away on the worst anniversary trip ever." She glared at Blaine, and she could see a moment of admiration before he bit his lips together and looked appropriately contrite. The man behind the counter grimaced at the prospect of being dragged into a domestic dispute, and Peyton continued, "We'd like a room. I'd make it two, but the joy I'm going to get out of sticking my frozen feet against his legs is the only thing keeping me going at the moment." She turned her back to him but allowed Blaine to keep his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"I've already apologized about a hundred times. I didn't realize your family's weekend place was in the literal middle of nowhere," Blaine sang through gritted teeth. "Could we make that a room with a really big bathtub so my wife can _thaw out_ in a nice hot bath?" he added, giving Peyton's arm a little squeeze. He ruffled snow out of his white gold hair with his other hand, and Peyton prayed that the man didn't spot him for a zombie who'd escaped Seattle. "You don't happen to have any vending machines, do you?"

"Just round the side of the building under the awning. Normally, I'd direct you to the diner up the street too, but under the circumstances..." He pulled his lips together as though what he was about to suggest had soured on his tongue. "Look, I don't cook, but for a couple bucks I could heat up two spare tv dinners and shoot them over to you."

"Much appreciated," Blaine told him in sincere surprise. Before they knew it, Blaine was signing them in as Mr. and Mrs. John Deaux. "It's not like I'm not gonna need this for the restaurant anymore," he lamented as he reached into his wallet to pay the man in cash, but Peyton could see his frustration when he was unable to charm the man out of requiring a credit card as a security backup.

"Thanks, man. You might just have saved me from divorce," Blaine sighed, eyeing Peyton meaningfully. After settling on a time for them to expect the dinners, Blaine turned his attention towards Peyton making himself every inch the anxious husband trying to mollify his wife. "Want me to pull the car up to the room? Oooh! I could carry you over the threshold bridal style so you don't have to stick your feet in the snow!" he suggested, as Peyton lead him back through the door in a hurry to get to the safety and privacy of their room.

The room in question turned out to be the bridal suite, and, while the decor was in no danger of being featured on the cover of a magazine, the room was immaculately clean. "I just hope it's not so clean because of all the bleach he uses when he gets rid of the bodies. We all go a little mad sometimes," Peyton joked, and Blaine laughed.

"So he gave off those Norman Bates pheremones to you? I was picturing more of an Adrian Monk vibe. Eats strictly TV dinners to keep his foods completely separate. Comes in to secretly straighten the towels when his guests are out..." Blaine grinned.

They stared at each other, smiling for too long. Blaine swallowed. "I'm sorry. About all of this," he told her. Peyton looked away uncomfortably. He didn't blame her if she couldn't forgive him.

"You should have told me when Mr. Boss came back," she said simply.

Blaine nodded. "If you wanna have that hot bath now I'll check what Don E. packed in the go bag for us."

"Seriously! You're not even going to try to explain?!" Peyton demanded. Blaine turned and concentrated his attention on the black nylon duffle sprawled across the king-sized floral bedspread. He moved with an unnatural stiffness, his spine rigid. "You could have at least warned me. I warned you the last time he showed up in my office."

"I warned him to stay away from you, and it's not like the explanation changes anything," Blaine replied. He unzipped the bag and dug through the neatly folded clothes on top. He pulled what appeared to be a box of yogurt tubes and a bag of gummy candies out from the bottom of the packing.

"You're wrong. It might not change what's already happened, but it makes a big difference to me. I'm trying to understand, but what the hell were you thinking? Were you just that angry at me? You literally did business with the man who tried to kill me--the man I had nightmares about." Peyton continued to push.

Blaine whirled on her. "After we broke up things turned to shit around me fast! My father and Don E. stole all my customers out from under me and sent a hitman to kill me. I only survived by forcing an acquaintance to make me a zombie again. I put my dad in the closest thing I could think of for a zombie prison, but Dad had been a busy beaver. I ended up with double the customers, and his contacts wouldn't work with me to smuggle the brains from that damned Bengali hospital he owned to Seattle! My people and supply couldn't keep up, and in case you've forgotten starving zombies are apocalyptically dangerous! Boss came along at the same time that Don E. and Ravi got their asses captured by the redneck, anti-zombie militia! I was drowning, I was sick of getting shot, and he had a particular set of skills that I needed. It was my chance to get out from under, and thrive at the only thing I'm apparently any good at!" Blaine's eyes burned into her, hard and glassy. He turned back around abruptly, and began pulling out folded garments and placing them on the bed for further examination. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn't have unloaded on you like that."

Peyton remembered an old conversation she'd had with Liv on the day Peyton and Blaine had first met. Liv had seriously fallen out with Major and vented all manner of frustration on her former fiancee. "You were just sick of being in the doghouse," Peyton replied in understanding tones. She took a breath. "I get it. I know you might not believe it, but you could have told me. And, Blaine... selling brains to zombies isn't the only thing you're good at."

"Yeah, I'm sure nothing would have been more satisfying than watching me hit rock bottom," Blaine jeered.

Peyton's frustration at him was swallowed by the guilt of remembering how she'd sicced Liv on him after the breakup when they'd thought he had stolen the cure and was probably smugly pleased with himself. She'd heard that Liv had not reacted well, and the confrontation had included both Liv going into full-on zombie mode and her punching Blaine in the face. The revenge hadn't been satisfying at all. "Because you're doing so well right now with Boss double-crossing you and trying to kill us? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not enjoying it, Blaine, and I don't just mean because I got targeted with you." Without further comment, she headed into the bathroom and switched on the tap.

Her half-numb toes screamed to life as she tried to dip them into the waiting tub, and it took several tries before she could ease her feet into the water. Sinking into the hot water, Peyton tried to relax, but things Blaine had said kept niggling at her. The words "sent a hitman to kill me" and "sick of getting shot" kept ringing in her head, and Peyton squinched her eyes shut, burying them behind her palms as she slid beneath the hot water.

She realized that she was in deep here. In the surreal hours since Blaine had shown up at her office just in time to shoot several of Boss's new goons, she'd fallen into step and allowed Blaine to drag her along in his wake. He'd hurriedly explained to her how Boss had gained control of Blaine's black market after making an underhanded deal with Angus to take over the whole city, and he'd set plans in motion to get her out of New Seattle and hide her until Boss could be dealt with. It was more than just knowing that Blaine would keep her safe. She'd been both moved and relieved when he'd come for her again--guns at the ready no matter what had happened between them. She'd discovered that part of her still wanted Blaine to have her back and to prove to her that it hadn't been a lie between them. She'd enjoyed the excuse to have him back in her life, and now she was trapped in the middle of nowhere with him--snowed into an isolated motel where the consequences of being with him were becoming hazy.

 _Dear God, how am I supposed to share a bed with a man I still have feelings for?_ Peyton wondered, pushing her wet hair back as she surfaced and slouched down against the slope of the tub with the water lapping at her chin. She imagined trying to lie beside him all night their bodies touching, reminding her of steamy nights when they'd moved together as one and sleepy mornings spent cuddling under the blankets. Even if they could resolve all the tensions between them, she couldn't get intimate with Blaine without becoming a zombie now. _Would it really be so bad to be a zombie?_ a small voice inside her asked. She gave the water an angry splash with her fingers to drive away those thoughts.

"Oh, what the hell, Donald?" Blaine groaned loudly, and Peyton wondered vaguely what was wrong with the bag's contents. A light rapping at the door a few moments later made her think she was about to get an answer to that question. Blaine called out, "I've got some pajamas and... stuff... for you..."

"Come on in," Peyton replied, and she drew her knees up to her chest to cover herself.

Blaine entered trying to look anywhere but at her as he waved a baggie filled with travel shampoos and soaps at her and tried to lean close enough for her to take it. "Some options in case you don't like the freebies here," he said, and Peyton smiled at the flush creeping across his cheek bones. She grabbed the bag easily from his fingers as he teetered in front of her. She found comfort in his willingness to put aside their argument and offer peace in his own way.

"Thank you," she told him. "I'm covered, so you don't have to trip over yourself looking at the ceiling." She rested her chin on her knees as Blaine exhaled and finally allowed his gaze to travel in her direction. His eyes raked over her hungrily, and he did the thing she loved where he looked at her with his tongue unconsciously peeking out between his lips when he was thinking about kissing her. Peyton smiled slowly, and Blaine took a moment to collect himself.

"The PJ's aren't glam, but they'll serve." He opened up the nightshirt to reveal a zombie kitten hanging from a branch with the familiar "Hang in there" caption before refolding it and placing it on the counter, while Peyton rolled her eyes and shook her head. Next he held up a pair of cotton sleep pants covered in elves firing rocket launchers that made Peyton laugh aloud. Finally, he presented an unopened package of white cotton briefs that made Peyton snort in disbelief. "Um... I get the feeling it's some kind of a message from Don E. and Candy..."

"Granny panties... _really?!_ Yeah, I'm getting the impression that they're not exactly fans of mine," Peyton conceded, her sides shaking with silent laughter, as Blaine straightened the folded garments. "Wow! You certainly manage to accrue some ardent admirers amongst your running buddies. Should I be sleeping with one eye open?"  
  
"Aside from the bras that match those underpants the rest of the clothes are pretty normal," Blaine said, pointedly ignoring her last comment. Forgetting herself for a moment, Peyton shifted with laughter and accidentally flashed Blaine enough bare skin to make him incredibly flustered.

For a heartbeat Blaine's eyes became shocked blue discs floating in a sea of white, and his fair skin turned fuschia right up to his scalp and the tips of his ears. "I... um... I should probably give you some privacy so you can get back to relaxing," he stammered, nearly tripping over his own feet as he fumbled out the door--leaving an amused Peyton staring openmouthed after him as though there were something more she wanted to say. He closed the door quickly behind himself, leaning heavily against the cheap hollow core door as he realized that his pulse was actually racing as though he were alive. _How the hell am I going to manage to share a bed with the woman I'm still in love with?_ he wondered.

He picked up the large plastic baggie that appeared to be filled with gummies, and, clutching it to his chest, he flopped down onto the mattress. He stared up at the white ceiling, as he remembered the sudden shock of coming down to find his father and Mr. Boss waiting inside his office. "Blaine, I hope you don't mind the sudden intrusion," Stacy Boss said in a voice dripping with false concern, "but it looks like I'm going to have to give you my two weeks notice because your father here made me a better offer." Blaine caught a flash of movement as Boss reached into his breast pocket, and he instinctively jumped out of the line of fire. Two shots whirred past him, burying themselves in the wood panelling. "Well, that hardly seems sporting behavior," Boss cooed, and Angus added, "There's nowhere to go, son."

Blaine realized that Angus and Boss must have armed men waiting outside. He considered his escape options and tried to plan an escape route that wouldn't land him on the wrong end of a gun. There were only two doors, so there would be men at the front and back of the house. _Side window_ , he thought. "C'mon, Blaine! The sooner we wrap this up, the sooner I can settle accounts with your little friend from the DA's office, and I can move into my new office," Boss taunted, as the short gangster rounded the doorway of the office. Blaine was already out the window and disappearing into the overgrown shrubs that ran along the side of the building and gave him cover to the trees.

Unable to reach Peyton's mobile, Blaine rushed to her office while contacting Don E. with orders to warn their people and set up everything he'd need to get Peyton someplace safe so he could come back and clean up his mess without having to worry about her. He hadn't counted on how exciting it was to be this close to Peyton again. During the drive Blaine caught himself making mental excuses to stay beside her longer before going back. Every time she looked at him with a warmth in her eyes that he'd thought he'd never see again, he found himself hoping that the path they were on lead him back into her good graces. If he could only stay with her long enough... Once again he'd been so focused on the honeymoon of being in bathed in Peyton's light again that he failed to see the trap he was falling into until it was too late.

Now here he lay trying not to picture Peyton naked and sprawled out in the bath. He could nearly feel the weight and warmth of her pressed against his side on the mattress while she smiled up at him and whispered endearments, but things had changed since they were last a couple. Peyton's desire for her friends to be human again and fury at him for even delaying their chance to be cured were all the hint he needed to know how Peyton would feel about being a zombie herself. Not that he had any right to ask that of her anyhow. Asking her to enter a sexless relationship with her ex-boyfriend who had already broken her trust twice was equally impossible.

He needed a distraction to take his mind off this situation. Opening the baggie in his hands, he dug through the colorful pieces of candied brains to find one of the blue chunks. Tanner had given Blaine and Don E. the idea of brain candy with one of his stray comments, and it had seemed like a good way of disguising brains in public. The sugar seemed to add to the preservation, and the flavors they'd added were more than adequate tasting. The small piece wouldn't last for long. It would easily be out of his system before it was time for their TV dinners, but a few intense visions from a random brain was the best distraction he had at hand. He supposed that it was better than losing himself in Utopium or alcohol like he'd done in the past. He just hoped this brain would make his situation better instead of worse. "Where's an impotent proctologist when you need one?" he said to himself as he popped the piece of blue brain into his mouth and chewed.

By the time Peyton emerged from the bathroom smelling of Blaine's favorite shampoo, Blaine was lounging across the bed and critiquing a nature program. Peyton goggled at the unbelievable sight. "Oh, for the love of... That is a completely unfair representation of a glorious animal! What ever happened to professional integrity and ecological responsibility?!" he demanded, waving at the screen in disgust.

"I'm sorry. I must be in the wrong room. I was looking for Blaine DeBeers," she said. Blaine looked up at her in surprise as if he'd been so enthralled by the program that he hadn't noticed her entering the room. She shifted her nightshirt, holding the hem in her hands, and turned her toes inwards, hanging in a moment of anticipation before padding towards him across the springy savannah of carpet. "I was hoping he might have some socks for me."

Blaine's nostrils flared as he looked at her, and his eyes went completely vacant. He sat frozen, his eyes focused on nothing, as the seconds ticked by. For the first time Peyton realized that Blaine hadn't developed an unexpected new interest but had merely consumed someone else's. While she was no stranger to the changes eating brains brought Liv, this was the first time she'd ever seen Blaine on one. As the vision stretched on, she knew he'd eaten a blue juice brain, and she sighed heavily.

With a thin gasp Blaine snapped back into the moment, his body rocking forward before he caught his balance. "We're on the run, remember? What if someone found us while you were busy tripping on that brain?" Peyton asked. He looked up at her again--this time taking in the details of her appearance. Skin still flushed from the hot bath, Peyton crossed her arms over the green face of the zombie kitten and narrowed her eyes at him. The white towel was wrapped around her head and tucked into itself, as if she had come from a spa. In those ridiculous pajamas Blaine wanted to pull her into his arms and plant kisses all across her bare face.

"Relax. At the first sound of a car pulling in I'd have eaten a little of FG's glop, and bye bye visions, " he said, picking up the yogurt box on the nightstand and shaking it for emphasis. "I was crawling the walls, and I needed a way to unwind. Don and I timed these chunks, and you only have visions for half an hour... forty-five minutes tops."

Blaine placed his hands on her hips and guided her to sit beside him on the mattress. Then he lifted her feet onto his legs, while Peyton tried to ignore the insistent thrumming between her tense thighs. He took one foot and gently rubbed her toes between his hands to warm them. "Bathroom floor that cold, huh?" he asked, and he blew on her toes the way one might blow on their fingers on a cold day, letting his hot breath tickle across her skin to warm her.

Without conscious thought he blurted out, "Did you know that emperor penguins huddle together for warmth taking turns in the interior of the group and moving to the outer edge as they warm up so that others can have a turn?" He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and groaned, and Peyton decided he was dangerously cute like this. She watched him closely for a moment, her eyes filled with questions and her breath caught in her throat, before lying back and surrendering to his ministrations.

"After that bath it was like walking across an icefloe," she replied ruefully. He placed her foot on the bedspread and rose for a moment to fish a pair of women's ankle socks out of a drawer.

"No coats, but we have sneakers, jeans, and sweatshirts, so we'll blend better," he said.

"I still don't know how your running buddy neglected to get us any coats," Peyton growled, as Blaine returned with the socks and settled next to her on the bed again. He returned to warming her foot with his hands and breath before giving her second toe an affectionate wiggle and slipping the teal cotton over her foot to keep her cozy.

"Not to defend Don E., but I didn't have much time to relay instructions to him on the way to your office. Especially, since I was trying to reach your cell to warn you. I didn't know we were both going to have to flee so fast that neither of us would end up with coats," Blaine told her. He patted his thigh. "Next!"

Peyton wiggled her toes at him as she placed her other foot in his lap. "I was meeting with Mayor Baracus all morning, so the phone was off. I was just heading back to my office when the shit hit the fan. Why does it seem that you have a history of impromptu, ill-conceived plans when it comes to me?" she asked as she stared back at him with a bemused frown. The anger had long since passed, leaving a horde of unasked questions in the void that was left behind.

"I do seem to lose my sense when it comes to you," he admitted. He could tell that Peyton wanted to steer their conversation into deeper waters once more, where feelings and truths circled in the murky depths like hungry sharks, ...and Blaine had no desire to be bitten again. "This brain has been filled with amazing memories. You wouldn't believe the visions, I've been having. Just now, I was driving donuts in a jeep with a rescue tiger in the backseat while singing Sweet Home Alabama. I mean, the guy also thought it was cute to narrate his sex life like a nature program, so I guess we can deduct some cool points there. Don't think that matters when you're full of memories of the aurora over the arctic tundra, diving with seals, living with wild gorillas, or having to outrun an overprotective mama hippo in your SUV. Dammit! We didn't charge enough for this brain..."

Peyton gave a tired snort, and she pushed herself up to sit next to him. She realized the brain was probably starting to wear off if he was reducing the wonders of the natural world down to a monetary value, and she quietly chided herself for finding that comforting. "I wanted to say it earlier, but thank you for rushing in to the rescue again today. You saved my life for the second time."

Blaine shook his head. "Still my fault that you were in that situation in the first place." He seemed to sink into himself, and Peyton wasn't quite sure if he was seething or waiting for her to reproach him again.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "My dad always told me... 'if you keep rowing with one oar you'll only go in circles, kiddo.'"

Blaine raised his brows, and his eyes darted to her searching for more. "Pithy as that might be-"

"If you're tired of rowing in circles, pass me the other damn oar, Blaine," Peyton cut in before he could finish, and Blaine shut his mouth quickly, biting his lips together. "For now let's just try to concentrate on staying alive and fixing this mess together. We can figure out the rest of it later..." He nodded, and she could feel him rest his head against the top of hers as they watched the television announcer attempt to piss off a bird spider until Blaine sighed in exasperation at him. "So the guy really narrated his sex life...?"

He braved the cold to get them a couple cans of soda and some snacks to go with their dinners, and they sat silently watching the evening news report out of New Seattle, where Angus McDonough and Stacy Boss had held a public address declaring New Seattle liberated and zombies given their rightful place of power.

"I should never have left," Peyton breathed. Her eyes grew watery as she watched Angus's all zombie government taking control, and she wondered about the fates of the people she'd worked with. She knew a couple of them had fled under the cover provided by Blaine, but where they'd gone from there she didn't know. Blaine gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze, and she gave him a wan smile in return.

"We needed to make sure at least one high ranking member of the city government was safe if we're to restore order once we have the city back," Blaine said.

"Before you pulled my sim card, Liv said Major had Baracus with him," Peyton protested.

"Yeah, well, excuse me if I have more faith in you than in a guy I once had to blackmail into doing his own job," Blaine answered. He poked at his slice of meatloaf and gravy with a plastic fork. He reached into the box of brain tubes and pulled out a white cyllinder. "You might wanna look away while I make this all a little more zombie-friendly," he warned, and he ripped open the tube.

Peyton watched with a forkful of turkey held motionless between her lips as he added dollops of brain mush into the mashed potatoes, mixed it in, and then coated the meatloaf with a thin frosting of brain. He used the remainder of the brain paste as a dip for his bag of Funyons. "Is that as bad as it looks?" Peyton wondered aloud.

"Well, it isn't chicken cordon bleu." He smirked at her and popped another brain-coated Funyon into his mouth. "At the restaurant and club we try to make the food as tasty and close to normal food as possible, and we do a pretty good job of it. This will do in a pinch--it hides the texture--but it could really use some hot sauce."

Peyton chewed her food thoughtfully and watched him, seemingly content and relaxed as he ate beside her. "You seem to have adjusted well," she noted, and Blaine's brows flickered upwards briefly as he regarded her.

He shrugged. "Beats the alternative, right? 'It just so happens that your friend here is only mostly dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead.'" His posture and voice transformed into an excellent impression of Miracle Max as he spoke.

Peyton laughed. "Mostly dead is slightly alive?" she asked with a lilt of humor in her voice and a gleam in her eye. Blaine smiled back at her knowingly.

"Yeah... _slightly_ , " he agreed. "Maybe just slightly."

"Guess it's a relief that neither of us got featured on the news as New Seattle's most wanted," Peyton said. She stretched her arms above her head and rolled her neck gently from side to side. _Hope this bed is more comfortable to sleep on than it is to sit on_ , she thought.

"That whole spectacle was a display of power," Blaine explained. He paused around a mouthful of meatloaf, as he watched Peyton stretch--all soft curves and lean lines moving underneath the shifting cotton and pressing against the soft fabric. He realized that he could no longer taste the food, too preoccupied with the sight before him, and he forcibly shook himself from his reverie. "He wants the world to see him as an indomitable dictator. Acknowledging that his wayward son, the city's Chief of Staff, and at least a handful of other troublemakers slipped through his grasp would give that narrative one hell of a black eye."

"I think we should start discussing our plan to take back the city."

That got a reaction. "Woah, woah, woah! The plan is to stash you somewhere safe and give you plausible deniability for what needs to be done," he objected, pushing back his plastic tray of food. He was clearly marshalling his arguments and bracing for a fight.

Peyton kept eating, completely unconcerned with his growing defensiveness. "Your plan, maybe," she replied. She took another bite of potato, keeping her gaze fixed on the television.

"No. We are in dark, bloody, and dangerous territory. That's my domain. Bodies are going to hit the floor, Peyton." His eyes bored into her, his expression a mixture of anger and worry. Peyton was well aware of whose bodies Blaine intended to have hit said floor, and she knew that killing his father would take a far greater toll on Blaine than he was willing to admit. She didn't want to be too far away to help when the time came.

"I've been there when bodies hit the floor before," she pointed out. She did her best to ignore his outburst.

"And you were terrified afterwards," Blaine countered. "Like any normal, sane, non-murderous human being should be."

"Yes, I was. And I'm not suggesting that I should be fighting on the frontline. I am saying I could help planning, and that I don't want you to drop me off in the middle of nowhere so you can go back to the city alone." She finally looked at him, holding his gaze without wavering.

"So getting you out of the city, everything I've been doing to try to keep you safe... you're telling me you want to just throw it out the window? Make it all for nothing?!" He scooted around to face her; he'd reached the point of frustration where he had begun speaking with his hands, pointing back towards the city or sweeping his hands apart as he threw them into the air, as though that would somehow drive his point across. His wild eyes bored through her. "We need to play this smart. We need to minimize the risks."

"It's not for nothing," she promised in as soothing a voice as she thought he'd accept from her under the circumstances. "Right now we're regrouping, catching our breath. We can take a few days to plan without the pressure of being trapped in the city with your father and Mr. Boss," she said, hoping he'd see the reason in what she was proposing. "Every attempt to sneak in or out of the city is a risk. Leaving me alone somewhere is a risk. Those are already excellent reasons for us to stick together, and I can think of plenty more." She couldn't tell whether the pained look as he hung his head was because he was rejecting her words or because he realized that no matter what reasoning he gave she was ultimately going to win this argument with the same skills that made her so formidable in the court room.

Blaine shook his head, and Peyton pushed his plate of food back towards him. "Hey, you need to finish eating. I'm not climbing into bed with a hungry zombie tonight," she said. She could think of a couple jokes that Blaine could come back with, and she hoped he would rise at the chance. Despite her teasing tone, Blaine refused to look up at her. "Wow. I left that one wide open for you. Nothing! Really?!"

Blaine took a deep breath, and Peyton got the distinct impression that he was planning something. She placed a hand on his shoulder and lowered her face so that he might see her. "Blaine DeBeers, if you even think about slipping away while I'm sleeping and leaving me alone in this godforsaken motel, I swear to God I'm gonna handcuff you to me before we go to bed." She felt him relax under her her touch.

He raised his eyes to focus on her. Leaving Peyton in a well stocked safehouse for a few days was one thing, but stranding her without so much as identification was another entirely. He couldn't honestly say the thought hadn't crossed his mind in desperation though. "Don E. didn't pack any fuzzy handcuffs for us, so unless you have something in your pockets that I don't know about..."

"I can improvise," Peyton warned him, and Blaine nodded in acknowledgement. He cocked his head towards Peyton's own half-eaten dinner, before digging his fork back into his potatoes and brains and taking a bite. He watched Peyton closely, waiting for her to start eating. Once she picked up her fork, he concentrated on his own meal, barely glancing in her direction. He ate listlessly, clearly unhappy with Peyton's decision but knowing better than to argue the point further, and Peyton watched him with a mixture of relief and disappointment filling her belly. Blaine's chilly mood certainly solved the problem of anything untoward happening tonight, but the thought of Blaine lying there all night with his back turned towards her to shut her out made her miserable and lonely.

"The news report gave me an idea," she said, twirling her fork to mop up some gravy with her bite of turkey. "Liv has an acquaintance with Johnny Frost. I think Liv and I could use him to plant a fake news story. Something we could use to manipulate Angus for you," Peyton explained, her voice growing in excitement as she spoke.

Blaine listened, and the light in his eyes told Peyton he could see the possibilities in her suggestion. "We could get him to send some of his goons after a fake threat. Piss him off so that he makes a mistake..." As she spoke, Blaine's eyes focused on thoughts that only he could see, and his mouth hung open on the verge of a smile.

 _Olive branch accepted,_ Peyton thought, watching him. "We could give him one hell of a black eye for all to see." From his expression, she half expected Blaine to start purring at her suggestion.

"Okay. Let's start planning," he agreed.

They spent the rest of the meal and the next few hours engaged in lively discussion of potential plans, before finally breaking to get ready for bed. Blaine allowed Peyton first dibs on the bathroom, changing for bed while she brushed her teeth. She didn't even think to knock before coming back into the bedroom, falling back into their old domestic routine. Stripped down to a v-necked tee and a pair of boxers, he stood leaning against the dresser with his white cellphone in his hand. Blaine looked up from his music playlist, cutting off the app mid-song, and with a quick smile traded rooms with her only to return ten or so minutes later fresh faced and smelling of mint toothpaste.

Peyton looked up from her pillow and drew back the blanket. She had instinctively left the side of the bed closest to the door for him. It had always been his preference, and Peyton understood why now. Before climbing in beside her, Blaine opened the nightstand drawer to produce two guns and his butterfly knife. He placed the gun with the silencer on the polished top of the cherry nightstand. He secured the holster for the smaller gun to the headboard of the bed, checking that either of them could reach it easily in an emergency. He hid the knife between the mattress and the boxspring, and then he slid into the blankets, lying on his back beside her. "You good?" Blaine asked as Peyton tucked herself into his chest with his left arm curled around her shoulders. She nodded and yawned.

She felt him jump as her hand came to rest upon his belly, but moments later his other hand moved to cover hers. A current of carnal electricity ran between them at the possibility of the touch, leaving them precariously balanced upon the tipping point where the slightest nudge from either of them would send them seeking passionate intimacy in each other's arms. Neither moved to break the balance, instead waiting for the moment to slide away back to comfort and security. Blaine's restraint soothed Peyton, lulling her back into the relaxed safety of a few moments ago.

"Think all the excitement's catching up with me..." she trailed off in a sleepy mumble. He turned off the bedside lamp, and she could feel Blaine's fingers lightly stroking her hair as she drifted on waves of drowsiness that rose and fell with the rhythmic movement of his chest beneath her cheek. Consciousness slipped away, and she let it go trusting Blaine to keep them safe.

She was rudely awakened by Blaine shoving her off the bed and screaming, "Keep down!" She tumbled to the carpeted floor with a keister bruising thump as two whizzing noises passed over her head and something buried itself in the wall behind her. Her protest turned to a scream, and she could hear animalistic growling in the darkness as a volley of answering shots cut across the room. _Is Blaine okay? Is he hurt?_ Peyton worried.

She heard the sounds of a struggle moving from the bedside toward the bathroom, and her heart stopped at the sounds of footsteps and more shots coming from the front door. _Oh, God! There's two of them_ , she thought. _I'm about to do something really stupid._

Peyton sprang up high enough to reach the headboard, praying that the silenced shots from Blaine's gun meant he'd only grabbed the one from the nightstand. Her fingers fumbled across the wood, as she peered over the mattress at the man framed in the doorway and trying to get a clean shot on Blaine without hitting the large man struggling with him. Her hand clasped around the grip, and she pulled it free, kneeling behind the bed to aim without drawing attention to herself. The man's finger moved towards the trigger, and Peyton emptied half the clip into his chest.

The report of the gunshots startled the man straddling Blaine, and his head jerked to the sight of his companion crumpling to the doorstep. Blaine's hand shot upward, smashing into the other man's chin and knocking him off-balance enough for Blaine to grab him by the head and smash his skull into the wooden door jamb. The crack of bone against wood ended in a squelching squish. In the silence that followed Peyton could even hear the faint sucking as Blaine pulled the man's head away from the jamb before propelling it full force against the wall again.

From the damage he was doing, Peyton knew that Blaine had to be in full-on zombie mode. She switched on the bedside lamp and rushed towards him. She remembered how Liv had struggled to calm down after saving Peyton from a zombie assassin in their apartment, and she feared that she and Blaine might not have long before the motel owner came to investigate the sound of the gunshots. _Would he have heard the gunshots? How far was his house from the motel itself?_

Peyton approached with her hands raised trying to look as non-threatening as possible. She spoke in a soft voice, hoping to calm him before he could be discovered. "Blaine, we need to take care of this before anyone comes looking. Blaine? Are you listening?" He stared back at her through red on silver eyes as he gulped air, and he heaved the corpse off himself. Splotches of blood speckled his white skin and clung to his hair, and his tee shirt was drenched in gore and globs of brain.

"The house is set back from the road a bit," he husked. "He might have slept through it, if he's a sound sleeper. If he heard, he'll have to dress and walk down through the snow to investigate." He jogged to the still open door to the room and peered into the parking lot. Peyton shivered as the cold air bit into her skin. "Footprints, but no car. They must've parked somewhere down the road and walked. Christ only knows how anyone drove on that road." He took a few steps outside, looking over the top of the motel towards the house. "No lights, but he could be watching in the dark," Blaine announced, and he hurried back inside, violently kicking the body of the man Peyton had shot out of the doorway and into the snow so he could close the door behind himself using his foot. His eyes and unearthly pallor had transformed back while he was outside.

He stepped towards Peyton's trembling frame as if preparing to wrap his arms around her, but glancing at his bloody hands he stopped. Instead, he returned to the bathroom. He grabbed the body of the other man, hefting upwards, and slinging it over his shoulders. "Get the door for me," he said. He sagged a bit under the weight, and Peyton rushed to comply. "While I get rid of the bodies, I want you to get the toothpaste and start filling in the bullet holes in the walls. If they're too big you might need to stuff some paper or something in first," he instructed, and Peyton nodded, her mind suddenly whirling too fast with all the questions she wanted to ask, the things she wanted to say, and the barrage of details from what had just happened that her brain seemed to be trying to process all at once.

"Toothpaste. Got it," she finally managed, as she closed the door behind him. She concentrated on the task at hand, jumping at any sound, and peeking through the crack of the door when Blaine--dressed in the first man's coat and shoes--returned to collect the second body. She finally managed a passable result by shoving wadded toilet tissue into the holes before using the toothpaste as a spackle. As the minutes ticked by without any police or irrate motel owners beating on the door, Peyton began to breathe easier. By the time she began on the third hole her hands had stopped shaking. Blaine returned as she was preparing to clean away the blood spattered around the entrance to the bathroom and pooled on the white tiles of the bathroom floor.

He examined her handiwork on the walls and appraised, "I'd almost think you'd done this before." She was finally able to get a good look at him. It appeared that none of the bullets had touched him and that none of the blood on his clothing was his own. He milled with restless energry. His lips twitched, obviously wanting to say more but holding back. A bluish tinge to his pale skin robbed him of his normal lively appearance and reminded Peyton vaguely of the corpses in the refrigerated drawers at the morgue. She knew Blaine wouldn't appreciate the comparison.

"Yeah. Well, this is a long way from trying to hide nail holes in my old apartment," she replied. She blew out a breath between soft lips to make a sound of tired derision. "Are you okay? You must be half frozen. Hit the shower and leave the bloody clothes in the sink. At worst I can use them to finish mopping up."

"I'll handle the blood," Blaine told her. "Zombies are immune to any bloodborn diseases, and after what Liv told me about that Aleutian flu outbreak... don't wanna take any chances." He stripped off his sticky, icy shirt as he headed towards the bath. The grey cotton, stained blackish red, clung to his skin--pulling free with a frozen crackling. Peyton grimaced at the frostbite left behind where the bloody fabric had frozen to his skin, and she took a seat on the corner of the bed. Even his boxers were stained in blood along the waistband.

He used the back of the shirt to soak up the blood at the entrance to the bathroom before dropping it in the sink and turning on the cold tap. When it stopped bleeding into the sink, he wrung it out and used it to wipe away the remaining residue smeared across the tiles and to wipe down the doorway. "So?" Peyton prompted him, when it became clear that he wasn't going to start talking on his own. His eyes turned towards her, with his brow crinkled in obvious confusion as he dabbed at the remaining blood splatter with the damp edge of the rinsed shirt. "So what happened before I woke up? So what did you do with the bodies? So what do we do next?" Peyton clarified.

"Ah! That," Blaine sighed. "You didn't miss much. I felt a breeze when the door opened, saw the first guy aiming towards you as he entered, and that's when I pushed you. I raged out and shot at him, and he dodged and rushed me. I found a lock picking set on him, while I was disposing of the bodies. I stashed that in the car."

"Okay. Glad you got a new toy out of the deal," Peyton deadpanned before breaking into a hollow smile, trying to make the talk of hitmen and bodies less terrifying.

"Could be useful" Blaine said. He watched her with calculating eyes weighing the severity of her expression. "I found their car parked on the roadside not far from the motel. When they are eventually found, it'll look like they went off the road at one of the curves. Found some texts with my dad on one of their phones, and I sent a text to let him think the job was done. Should buy us some time."

"A guy has a chest full of bullets and the police will think he died in a car accident?"

"Yeah... they won't find any bullets. I saw to that. They'll think he was driving, and during the crash he was thrown through the window and impaled on a branch. The amount of damage to his chest should make it impossible to determine the truth," Blaine told her.

Peyton's mouth gaped open. Her eyes widened and flickered back and forth in distress as she struggled for words. "And the other guy?"

"They'll think he tried to jump out when the car left the road, rolled down the slope, and along the way the car rolled over his head. I took a little of his brain beforehand, so I can find out what he knew... how they found us. It wasn't enough to look out of place under the circumstances." He spoke easily, refusing to feign guilt or concern for the men who had tried to kill them. He had finished cleaning the spatter on the wall and around the front door, and he looked back at her to see how she handled the unvarnished details of what he had done. She seemed to have collected herself while he'd been speaking.

Peyton wasn't surprised by Blaine's ruthless practicality. He'd been a drug dealer and a murderer before she met him. When Boss had taken her hostage Blaine had cut the power to the building before using nightvision goggles to shoot all four of her captors when they couldn't see to shoot back. Peyton hadn't shed a tear for any of them, and, as she'd later told Blaine, her only regret was that Boss hadn't died with them. She felt no remorse for the man she'd shot tonight, or for the men Blaine had killed to protect them today. If these men had tried to murder them back home under normal circumstances none of this would have been necessary as it was a case of self-defense, but for anyone to discover that a human and zombie had escaped from New Seattle would be enough to dash the fragile peace that currently existed between humans and zombies even before whatever damage Angus McDonough and Stacy Boss might do. Peyton hoped that she'd never be forced to develop it to the extent that Blaine had, but she knew that protect herself, her loved ones, and her beliefs she was also ruthless and practical at her core. "Good," she said, and she meant it. "What about the blood outside the door?"

"Got rid of the bloody snow and splatter when I took the body," Blaine replied. Still looking exhaused and vaguely blue, he headed back towards the bathroom. "I'll get in the shower now. Could you find me something to wear back to bed?"

"Mhmm." She got him some clean underwear out of the dresser, while she heard him turning on the taps in the other room. She waited until she was sure that he was in the shower before entering and placing them folded on the counter. After a moment's thought, she stripped off her sleep pants, folded them and placed them on the bathroom counter for him as well.

Blaine caught the motion of her shadow through the shower curtain, and he peeked around the edge of the shower curtain--his expression both confused and scandalized. "Peyton? What are you-"

"Just take the pants, DeBeers," she told him with a warning look. Blaine bit his tongue, staring at her long legs and the glimpse of white briefs covering her toned backside that was visible when she bent forward. She grinned at the gleam in his eyes at seeing her in the prudish undergaments that his associates had picked to revenge frump her, and she headed back to bed with a little extra wiggle in her walk as she felt his eyes follow her out the door.

He sang as he finished his quick shower, and she could hear his laughter as he changed into the pajama bottoms. He was placing his toothbrush back into the ziploc bag of toiletries, as he entered the room. His bare chest appeared to be a much healthier and pinker color again. He spread his arms and turned for her to appreciate the ridiculous elf pants, and Peyton made an o with her lips, drawing her brows downward and fanning herself. Blaine laughed, but she caught the blush rising in his cheeks and creeping up the back of his neck.

"Yeah. That's hot," Peyton said, as he crawled back into bed with her, and he rolled his eyes and hummed his acknowledgement. "No, I'm serious. I might have to ask you to model those again for me." With a groan he turned off the light.

"You can admire the sexypants in the morning," he promised, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. They fidgeted for a few moments finding a comfortable position for their legs to twine together and for Peyton to find a place for her arms as she nestled against his bare chest.

"Did you learn anything useful from that brain?" Peyton asked in a voice filled with hesitation.

Blaine's hand cupped the back of her head, and he rested his nose against her hairline. His soft voice skimmed over her. "Yes. Dad knew that I'd been smuggling people into the city, so he suspected I could get out somehow. He had them looking for any of my aliases turning up outside the city. I'd been hoping that he wouldn't expect me to have a way out." He paused, then added in a reassuring voice, "Hey, you did good tonight. You were really brave."

Peyton's fingers trailed absently across his sternum. She missed his strong and steady heartbeat when he held her close, but it was amazing how quickly she was adapting to the new normal. "I was terrified, still am really. You said he was aiming at me when you woke up. Why would he aim for me first?" she questioned. "You're the most dangerous target. It only makes sense to go for you first."

Blaine tightened his arms around her. "He knew what he was doing." Blaine said. When he didn't elaborate, Peyton poked him in the chest and tilted her face upwards to stare at him demandingly--not that he could see much with the curtains closed. Blaine breathed heavily. "First off, you're the more important target. No city of humans or zombies is going to follow me. If they could get the drop on us, it was a chance to get to you without having to go through me."

"Sounds so simple and efficient when you put it that way," Peyton whispered against his skin.

He shook his head slightly, and Peyton could feel his lips move against her forehead when he spoke. "Efficient maybe, but definitely not simple. It's also an order from my dad. We have a way of making each other suffer." He paused to plant a kiss on Peyton's forehead. He was well past caring whether any of this was a good idea or how far he was crossing the invisible lines they'd both been nudging against all day. "I'd say he started it, but that doesn't solve anything," he added, hoping to lighten the mood after the nightmare inducing events Peyton had already endured today.

She grazed her lips against his chest, planting a kiss over his heart in return. "Are you about to use this to try to bundle me off to some safehouse in the sticks?"

More than worried, her voice sounded sad in the darkness. Blaine tipped her chin upwards to face him again, two souls staring into each other in the land of the blind. Perhaps it was the dark making it easier than usual for them to tread back into the deep waters. Perhaps it was the shared weariness making it too exhausting to maintain any further defenses. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. "No. Being together is what's keeping us alive. If they'd found you when you were alone... I don't want to think about it. We stick together, and we follow the plan we've been making. Besides, I'm tired of rowing in circles."

Her cheek crinkled beneath his touch. She wiggled happily in his arms, and a small sigh of contentment buzzed from behind her curving lips. "You know, if I squint and read between the lines, all that sounds a lot like you love me." She could hear Blaine's amusement in his breathing.

"You only get once chance for the first time you say that," Blaine warned, his normal playfulness surfacing. "Sure you don't want to hold out for an evening with flowers, and music, and maybe a candlelight supper, instead of a sad motel, tv dinners, and dead bodies?"

"I don't need flowers and candles," she told him. She dropped kisses upon his shoulder.

He pushed back enough to bend lower and capture her mouth with his lips. He held her head in his hand, lightly massaging her scalp with his fingertips, his lips and tongue joyously mingling with hers in a tingling completement that left them both breathless. "I love you." When he spoke, the smoothness of his voice had forsaken him, leaving the words new and naked.

Tears prickled at Peyton's eyes. "I love you too," Peyton answered, her voice thick and catching in her throat. She ran her fingers through his damp and touseled locks. She heard him let out a breath of relief. "After all that you thought I wasn't going to say it back?" Her voice dripped with disbelief.

"After all this I wouldn't have blamed you for running screaming from the room," he said lightly.

Peyton snorted softly. "I do seem to lose my sense when it comes to you too," she admitted. She stroked his chest fondly before closing her eyes and resting her head against his chest. He snuggled back into her, and they clung together--taking refuge in the moment, both knowing that when the dawn came they would head back to New Seattle to face Angus and Mr. Boss. But they would face it together.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr post about a snowy motel and a single bed. What will happen? And one of the posters expecting a smut fic failed to notice the cannibalism tag on the story they'd clicked on. Well, Blaine's technically a cannibal.


End file.
